


On Nights Like This

by lovetheblazer



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hedwig on Broadway, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, crisscolfer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4359179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheblazer/pseuds/lovetheblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The biggest thing that helped Darren survive seven shows a week for twelve weeks is the one thing he can't tweet about. Based on <a href="https://instagram.com/p/5Ktac6j1KK/">this post</a> and <a href="https://40.media.tumblr.com/50b410755c794ac44d2006eba7fa03f1/tumblr_nrm4buwNDX1r3pz0yo1_400.jpg">this picture</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Nights Like This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/gifts).



> I took some liberties with Chris' tour schedule in this because I can (the F in RPF stands for fiction, after all).

Chris startles at the sound of Darren's keys in the lock, shaking him awake from where he'd been dozing on the couch. He wipes the sleep from his eyes and stretches his arms overhead, feeling his spine pop audibly.

Darren opens the door, steps in, and quickly locks it behind him. Before he even turns to face him, Chris can already tell that's it a bad night by the way his shoulders are slumped. It's not surprising given that Darren's currently doing double duty, having spent his last precious Monday off to host some Fashion Week event Chris knows he doesn't give two shits about. As if that wasn't bad enough, he's also expected to put in daily appearances at fashion shows, because Darren doesn't know how or when to say no to people, even when he really, really should. Chris is torn between wanting to tell Darren “I told you so” and pulling him down onto the couch and kissing a smile back onto his tired face.

Darren trudges over to Chris, barely even picking up his feet as he shuffles to the couch and collapses onto it. “Ow,” he groans as he lands, wincing as he bends forward to massage one of his calves.

“Rough day?” Chris asks, though he already knows the answer. It's why he was willing to use his precious 48 hours of free time from the book tour to fly back to New York to see Darren.

“Pretty sure I'm dying,” Darren whines. “Everything hurts. Literally  _everything_.”

“Hey kid, this is the role you said you wanted,” Chris reminds him.

“Didn't anyone ever tell you that you should respect your elders, Christopher? I'm older than you and yet you call me a kid?” Darren scolds without any heat behind it.

“You're older than me by less than four years. Besides, that's just chronological age - if we're going off maturity, I'm practically a senior citizen compared to you,” he points out.

“Probably true,” Darren snorts. “I'd argue but it would be futile and we both know I'd lose anyway, so...” He lifts his legs to stretch them out on the couch.

“Ew, kindly remove your sweaty feet from my lap,” Chris cringes, trying to push them away.

“If you were a  _really_  good boyfriend, you'd give me a foot massage,” Darren suggests, shooting Chris his best wide-eyed pout.

“Hard pass, especially before you've even showered and washed off all the stage grime. I'm fine with the title of mediocre boyfriend if it means I don't have to touch your feet,” Chris scoffs.

“I took a shower after the show. I do every night. Otherwise I'd be coming home with a lot more makeup and glitter.”

“Um, you still come home with plenty of glitter, let's be real. I was at the book tour stop in Austin still finding specks of glitter in my underwear even though I hadn't seen you in a solid week?” Chris shakes his head fondly.

“Hey, they don't call it the herpes of the craft world for nothing. I've just accepted that I'll probably have flecks of glitter on my body even when I'm on my death bed... which will probably be sometime very soon at this rate,” Darren sighs.

“You aren't dying. You're just sore. Only a few more days to go and then you'll be calling me constantly to say how bored you are and how much you miss being Hedwig every night,” Chris insists. He frowns when he looks over and notices that Darren is unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. “Um?”

Darren doesn't respond; instead he just toes off his shoes and then lifts his hips enough that he can slide his jeans down and tug them all the way off. “Does this look like just being sore to you?” he asks Chris, gesturing to his very beat up legs.

“Jesus,” Chris winces as he leans forward to better examine the carnage. There's a large bandaid covering what looks to be a pretty nasty abrasion on one knee and another smaller bandage on Darren's calf. Aside from that, there are at least half a dozen smaller scrapes and bruises littering his knees and shins. But Darren’s feet have clearly taken the worst of the beating judging by how black and blue they are. Just looking at them is making Chris' eyes water and him suck in a sharp breath.

“So, is this bad enough to merit your sympathy?” Darren murmurs. Chris can hear the pout in his voice and something a little darker and a lot sadder simmering under the surface.

“Absolutely,” Chris replies, stroking his thumb across Darren's abused knee. “I'm sorry if I was a jerk before.”

“It's okay,” Darren says in a flat voice, scrolling through something on his phone. Chris still feels guilty and something tells him that things aren't exactly evened out yet.

Chris reaches out and snags Darren's hand, trying to get his attention. “How can I make it up to you? Want me to draw you a bath? You should eat too. There's extra takeout in the fridge.”

“Mmm bath please,” Darren hums. He finally looks up and makes eye contact, his expression softening when he sees the worried look on Chris' face. “It's fine. I'm not mad, just tired. I'm glad you're here.” He squeezes Chris' hand once before he lets it go.

“I'm glad I'm here too,” Chris smiles, feeling the tension in his neck and shoulders unspool. He stands and walks over to the refrigerator, reaching for the container of takeout food he'd ordered for Darren earlier. “Hot or cold?” he calls from the kitchen.

“What is it?”

“Pad Thai,” Chris answers.

“Cold, please. It's better that way,” Darren tells him. Chris nods and scoops about half the noodles onto a plate. He puts the rest of the container back in the fridge and snags a bottle of coconut water and heads back to the couch.

“Dinner is served,” Chris announces, handing him the plate. He sets the drink on a coaster on the coffee table in front of Darren. “Good?” he asks.

“Perfect,” Darren mumbles around a mouthful of food, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“You're such a boy sometimes,” Chris rolls his eyes fondly.

“Uh, we both are, last time I checked?” Darren points out. “I mean I could do the proper research again, just to be 100% sure,” he offers magnanimously, reaching for Chris' fly.

Chris bats his hand away. “I thought you were taking a bath?”

“You could always join me?” After a pause, Darren adds, “Although it'd probably be a bit too cold for your tastes, come to think of it...”

“Too cold? You want me to draw you a cold bath?” Chris frowns, confused.

“An ice bath – it's the only thing that really helps when you are basically one giant bruise and your feet have been reduced to bloody stumps,” Darren groans.

“Well, that's certainly a... vivid image,” Chris shudders. “So, you want me to fill the tub with cold water?”

“Yep, and then empty that bag of ice in the fridge in there as well. That's what it is for,” Darren says far too cheerfully for someone who is about to willing submit himself to hypothermia.

“...is this something you have to do regularly? Like regularly enough that you keep a bag of ice in stock for this specific purpose?” Chris wonders aloud, vaguely horrified. How is it that Darren's on week twelve of his run and this is the first he's hearing of it?

“A few times at the beginning, mainly during rehearsals and opening week because my feet weren't used to the heels and I hadn't formed blisters and calluses yet. Then again for the last week or so, because I've aged a hundred years in the past month and my body is under protest,” Darren explains.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“What and ruin my macho man image with you?” Darren jokes. They both laugh at that because of all the things Darren is when he’s injured or ill, macho is not one of them. “I don't know, usually this is a 2 AM ritual when I've already had a scotch or two and you are sleeping, so I guess it just never came up?”

“Fair enough,” Chris says. He bends to kiss the top of Darren's head and then tells him, “I'm going to go start your bath. Back in a few.”

“Hey, is there any more of this Pad Thai left?” Darren calls over his shoulder after him.

“In the fridge,” Chris yells.

He walks through Darren's bedroom and into the attached bathroom. He flips up the drain stopper and then turns the water on, leaving it on cold this time rather than turning on the hot water. He sees a pot of epsom salts on the side of the tub and adds a few spoonfuls of it to the water for good measure.

Over the sound of the running water, he can just make out the sound of Darren singing something. He smiles a little. It's usually a good sign when Darren's singing, aside from that one night BB King died and he sang mournful blues standards for a solid two hours while he downed far too much whiskey for Chris' liking.

Chris leaves the water running and walks out to the living room, following the sound of Darren's voice. “Tub's filling up,” he announces. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“Uh, yes?” Darren replies sheepishly, gesturing towards the now empty takeout carton. “Sorry, I finished off the Pad Thai.”

“I ate earlier, no worries. Most people don't have dinner at 12:30 in the morning, you know.”

“Well, they are missing out.” Darren sticks out his tongue.

“Ready for your bath? I can grab the ice,” Chris offers.

“Sounds like a plan,” Darren nods. Chris walks over to the freezer and retrieves the bag while Darren stumbles to his feet with a groan.

“Can you walk?” he asks, watching Darren sway.

“Nope, but I can hobble,” he manages through gritted teeth.

“Dude, you should seriously consider writing instead. There the worst you have to deal with is eye strain or a paper cut. Maybe carpal tunnel syndrome after years of hovering over the keyboard if you are really unlucky,” Chris advises Darren as he offers him his free arm. Darren takes it gratefully and leans on him as they walk towards the bathroom.

“Not everyone has your talent, kid. There's no way I could do what you do. I don't have the patience or imagination,” Darren points out.

“Eh, it's not as hard as it looks,” Chris insists modestly.

Darren stops dead in his tracks, whirling to face Chris. He takes Chris' face in both of his hands and stares up into his eyes. “Don't do that. Don't downplay what you do, because it's every bit as important as what I'm trying to do here. Hell, it's probably  _more_  important because it's original and you're actually teaching kids something through your books. Your series outsold Harry Potter this week, for christ's sake. Don't sell yourself short, okay?”

“I...” Chris is hypnotized by the sudden fire in Darren's eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he finally agrees.

“Good.” Darren nods once, then presses a quick kiss to his lips.

Chris wants to deepen it, to let the kisses lead them both to their natural conclusion (which is Darren's bed and not sleeping) but he's aware that Darren won’t turn down a chance for sex and that's so not what he needs at the moment. Right now, Darren needs to give his battered body a break and go to bed before 3 AM for a change. Chris is almost certain that Ricky has him scheduled for at least one Fashion Week appearance tomorrow at some ungodly hour, and Darren's barely running on fumes as it is. Someone has to be the adult, and sadly tonight that responsibility falls to Chris.

“Alright, in the tub. C'mon,” he encourages, tugging Darren into the bathroom.

Darren strips obediently, though he doesn't have that far to go since he never bothered putting his pants back on after showing his bruises earlier. He kicks off his boxers and stands in front of Chris fully naked. Chris wants to admire him, but he looks so exhausted and miserable that it just reminds him of his good intentions all over again.

“Do you get in first and then the ice or vice versa?” Chris asks.

“Ice first, then me,” Darren explains. “Otherwise I'm liable to take an ice cube to the nuts and no thanks.”

“God, thank you for that visual, Darren.” Chris shakes his head to try to clear the mental image, laughing a little. “Are you sure you want to do this to yourself?” he inquires after he's emptied the entire bag of ice into the tub. “You're going to be freezing.”

“That's pretty much the whole point, Chris. And no, I’m not really looking forward to it because it’s going to suck, but then it should help, so... kind of a trade off?” he mumbles, punctuating the statement with a shrug.

“Alright, I'm taking the plunge before I lose my nerve,” Darren announces, stepping into the tub and shivering almost immediately. Chris flinches in sympathy as he watches Darren reluctantly lower himself down into the water, displacing ice cubes in his wake. “Motherfucker, that's cold,” he swears.

“That's typically how ice works, yes,” Chris teases.

“Usually I'm a little drunk when I do this so it hasn't seemed quite so bad until now,” Darren pouts, his teeth chattering.

“About that,” Chris segues, holding up the beer he'd stashed in the bathroom when he went to run the water earlier.

“Marry me,” Darren sighs gratefully as he takes the beer from him, downing half the bottle in one long gulp.

“Umm, what?” Chris is so shocked that he takes a step backwards and almost trips over Darren's discarded shirt.

“God, not  _literally_. That's just what you say when someone does something really, really awesome,” Darren chuckles. “Although am I supposed to get my feelings hurt by the way you were halfway out the door the second I said that?” he wonders, gesturing to Chris.

“Hey, it's not like we haven't talked about it or anything! But yes, forgive me for running out of the room when I thought my boyfriend was stupid enough to propose while he was naked and in a tub of ice.”

“Touché,” Darren grins. “Although I'd like to point out that I don't have a ring at the moment, so that should've been your first clue that I wasn't serious.”

“Well, I wasn't  _sure_  that you didn't have a ring,” Chris grumbles defensively. “You could have had it hidden somewhere.”

“Where, like up my ass? That's about the only option currently.”

“Let's just say I wouldn't put it past you,” Chris laughs.

“Ah yes, I'll do whatever it takes to maintain the element of surprise, even shoving a ring box up my ass. Anything for you, baby,” he purrs.

“You're ridiculous.” Chris shakes his head in fond exasperation.

“Sure you don't want to join me?” Darren offers, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I'll make it worth your while.”

“No thanks, I'm good with my body temperature as is. Shockingly, I’m not in any rush to give myself hypothermia.”

In lieu of a response, Darren tosses a handful of water and ice at Chris, smiling wickedly. It hits him square in the chest.

“You dick!” Chris squeals.

“Oops?” Darren says, not looking apologetic in the least. “Guess you'll have to take your shirt off since it's all wet now.”

“So, that's your endgame, hmm? Fine, I’ll take it off but I'm still not getting in that tub of ice with you.”

“Counter offer: how about you meet me in the shower instead?” Darren suggests, tilting his head in the direction of the walk-in shower on the other side of the bathroom. “You can pick the water temperature and everything.”

Chris deliberates for a few seconds, weighing his own desire for some stress relief with Darren versus his somewhat noble goal to delay gratification and get Darren to sleep. Ultimately, his baser urges win out. Darren's never needed much sleep to begin with and sometimes sex can be just as restorative. At least, that's what Chris tells himself.

“It's a deal,” he grins, peeling off his clothes while Darren watches with dark, hungry eyes. Yeah, he's totally the best boyfriend ever.


End file.
